


How More Crossed Could The Stars Be? (Juke)

by AndHerFlowers



Category: Julie and The Phantoms (TV)
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Grief, Light Angst, There is some cursing, just a little bit, just because of the feels, original song at the end, star crossed lovers, they write songs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-14
Updated: 2020-11-15
Packaged: 2021-03-10 02:34:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,072
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27556927
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AndHerFlowers/pseuds/AndHerFlowers
Summary: or What was happening behind the eyes
Relationships: Alex & Willie (Julie and The Phantoms), Alex/Willie (Julie and The Phantoms), Julie Molina/Luke Patterson, Luke Patterson (Julie and The Phantoms)/Original Female Character(s), Luke Patterson/Alex (Julie and the Phantoms), juke (julie and the phantoms) - Relationship
Comments: 16
Kudos: 97





	1. BROWN

**Author's Note:**

> I was supposed to study math so the obvious thing to do was go and write some grossly self-indulgent Juke fanfiction. This is canon-compliant(ish), I just don’t know the exact time placement in the show. I still can’t do plots so these are just little snippets of life, they seem ridiculously fluffy at first but I definitely felt some angst there (then again, maybe that’s just something I need to resolve within myself).

BROWN

Julie Molina was not known for being reckless.

She was the type of person to think about things twice, to take into consideration everyone around her, make good decisions and never, _never_ let her heart get broken.

Julie Molina wore her heart on her sleeve, but she didn’t hand it out to just anyone. She loved passionately and she loved in abundance, but she loved what could love her back. She loved how her music made her feel like she was soaring; she loved the way ice cream melted on her tongue and eased the August heat; she loved how her father smiled and her brother joked and her mother sang.

She pretended she didn’t love the girl with the bright smile anymore, the girl who sang and danced just as she did, the girl with sparks in her eyes and a silver tongue. She took the piece of her heart the girl owned back, because that was a love she could no longer feel in return, not since words were said and accusations were made and tears were shed and if she didn’t understand why Julie would not play the piano again. She couldn’t make her stay.

Her mother died when she was fifteen. It was an explosion with a quiet buildup, a scream made of a thousand whispers and one that razed the plains of Julie’s heart. It was everything and nothing and all the things she didn’t understand – or wish she couldn’t – and it left but a hollow ache of a soul slowly breaking. It was too much.

Julie’s father didn’t smile for a long time; her brother stopped telling jokes and running around and screaming with laughter. Her life became silent, but more so because of the deafening quiet of the music not there, the music forever forgotten. So Julie locked her own music away too, because it was easier to drift through the dark and drown than hear the lyrics cry for help every night and day and moment of the unbearable thing that was existence.

The girl with the bright smile left, but the other stayed. Flynn, who would hold her for hours and cry with her, who would pick up the things she threw and the pieces of her broken voice, who would save away the angry poems and pretend Carrie never meant much. Flynn, who would not understand either, but she would stay regardless. Flynn, who was not as afraid as Carrie was of loss. Julie supposed it made a twisted sort of sense – Carrie had lost her mother in a different way, one that was more bearable, but at the same time not at all.

It was months before the quiet receded. Before Carlos let himself chuckle at his shows, Ray took photographs of beautiful things again and tia Victoria stopped crying when she would bring them lunch. Julie talked to Flynn about normal things again – schoolwork or movies or even crushes, unfortunate crushes on Carrie’s boyfriend (it was supposedly a good thing she was crushing on Nick again, Dr Turner had said one afternoon. It meant she was letting herself feel and live and try. Julie did not entirely believe her.). But she did not play or sing again; deep down, she was convinced she would not, could not ever return to mom’s studio, to her music.

Until Julie met the phantoms.

They were impossible and insane and _real_ – and it frightened her at first. Not the ghost part (okay, maybe a little bit of it _was_ the ghost part), but how easily they made her feel filled with songs again. They weren’t even trying to do anything, they simply existed and laughed and confused her and talked about music the way one would talk about love – which, Julie supposed, in a sense it was. They were crazy and hilarious and bursting with passion to the point where there wasn’t any air left to breathe that would not infect her with the known giddiness of creation.

So she did what she had been too afraid to do and listened to the call of her heart; Julie Molina sang and played the piano again and the world shone with a light unseen for a year now. It was beautiful and it was terrifying; but on top of it all it was right, right, _right_ , as anything had ever been.

Their music was like a summer storm, loud and brave and refreshing, rare in a sense that made the listener feel like they had been let in on a secret, one they must cherish and protect and only scream into the rain on nights when lungs are full and hearts are mending and the universe aligns its stars.

Julie came to love Reggie as she loved Carlos – fiercely protective and with fondness in her eyes. She laughed at his gags, sang along to the melody of his guitar, hid no smiles but no tears either. It was a friendship honest and pure, a forever understanding packed into a single bad joke.

Alex was what her mother used to call an Anxious Bean. He was a friend and a drummer and a listener and a worrier and so much more. Julie noticed he wore his heart on his sleeve too (she also noticed that he took this 90s black fanny pack everywhere and nobody seemed to know what he was carrying in it … But that was beside the point.) He seemed to be the most affected by the whole “Dying then returning 25 years later as ghosts” thing and he possessed a certain emotional refinedness the other two boys lacked. But only in certain situations. He knew how to comfort Julie about her mom better then the other members, but he also had zero clue how to act around the boy he liked, so there was that.

And Luke … Luke was something else entirely. Most of all, he was a bad idea.

Luke was much more than that, of course.

The way the two of them connected was insanity. It was impossible, two lost souls searching and finding each other in the lyrics of a song, a poem. They read each other’s minds, complemented, and challenged, all easy smiles and things unsaid. The pair wrote music that broke, music that fixed and haunted and enchanted, as each did the other. Not that they would ever confess to such a thing, of course. Perhaps they didn’t even know it themselves.

Flynn saw it, Reggie and Alex saw it. It was obvious, with the stolen glances and honest smiles. But it was also not meant to be.

“Do not touch that!” Julie’s voice rang out, clearly aggravated with her writing partner. She was sitting on her bed, notebook in lap, pen in hand, and Luke was energetically pacing around the carpet. But his eyes and fingers seemed to stray to her dream box quite a few times.

“I’m not touching anything, Jules! I’m a ghost, remember?”

“You can pick things up. Now stop running around like a beheaded chicken and help me with this next line.”

Luke’s expression flickered between amused and confused. “Like a WhatTheHell?”

“A beheaded chicken. I don’t know, tia Victoria says that. You know, because a chicken can still run around for a while even without … Never mind.” He was full on laughing now, shaking his head.

“You’re really something else. Come on, let’s finish this song.”

They were working on a ballad, since the band agreed their repertoire needed a slower song. A ballad of two star-crossed lovers. Julie found it uncomfortably easy to think of words to describe the longing and it unnerved her. Not that she would complain about writing good lyrics – and they _were_ good – but the realness of her lines, the _Perhaps your life was meant to be before me_ and _Grasping the thin air that once held your heart_ – it hit a bit too close to home, a bit too close to the boy sitting next to her, biting his lip in a way she had grown awfully accustomed to.

Maybe Flynn was right – maybe she did have a crush on him. A crush on a ghost boy from the nineties. A ghost boy she could not touch. The thought caught her like a thunderstorm, sucked the breath out of her lungs.

And maybe he even … Felt the same way.

“I think all we need is another line for me and then we can repeat the chorus to wrap it up.” His voice sounded so close. She could almost feel the presence of his body leaning on the pillows next to her, his fingers less than a centimeter away from her writing hand. But no, she could not feel him. Even though he seemed so painfully real, scrunched brows and messy hair, his hand was but _thin air_. She needed to remember that. _She needed to._

This would only end in heartbreak. A lifer and a ghost – how much more can the stars be crossed?

But the warm embrace of his singing took away all rational thought. All that stayed was the sparkling chemistry and sleeveless shirts. 

“ _You only love me when I close my eyes,_

_I hope to meet you in paradise._

And then with the:

_Girl of my dreams_

_and nothing more,_

_tell me pretty lies_

_with a touch, a breath away_ … No, actually, let’s change that last line for the grand finale.” Luke’s voice was raspy and low, and his humming made Julie queasy. _Because he wrote good songs. Because that’s what music was supposed to make you feel_. The voice in her head did not sound terribly convincing, even to her.

“ _May your lips be the vessels_.” She barely whispered the lines, but she knew he heard her; she sensed that playful smile crawling on his face.

“It’s perfect.” The praise felt good. “Watch it, Julie, or people might think you’re really in love with me.” The tone was joking, but his eyes were not.

“As if,” she snorted half-heartedly and made to punch him in the shoulder (or should she say, the air that would’ve been his shoulder), acutely aware of his green eyes. Those big, beautiful … _Dead_ eyes.

Julie wished Luke would snap out of it. She wished he would wink and roll off the bed and make a beeline for her dream box. She wished he would put on his flirty, charismatic face – that she could easily resist. The sparks of his gaze, the quietly growing grin … Not so much.

He would be the end of her. This ghost, with his songs and guitar, his laughs and _absence_ – this was madness. And yet she could not pull away from his understanding, artistry, dedication, the _fire_ behind everything he did; he had become a constant, an anchor of sorts, to her music and her drive.

She was being stupid, they both were. And it changed nothing. Common sense had been thrown out the window – the boys were real to her, they were there, Sunset Curve reborn into something less yet more. Luke was real, too, maybe more than she was. Nobody with that amount of lightning could be made of nothing. He was not a phantom, nor an illusion; he was a bandmate, a friend, something beyond words. No amount of denial could change facts:

Julie was willing to risk it all for this boy. But she could not make him come back to life.


	2. GREEN

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is sadder than i intended it to be? im sorry?

Luke Patterson had many passions in his life.

He was passionate about his friends, proving himself to his parents and eating more pizza than Bobby. He was passionate about his first girlfriend, Rachel, and his first boyfriend, Alex. He was passionate about acquiring clothing without sleeves. But the one passion above them all was music.

From the moment he first held a guitar in his hands, he knew; this was what everything would come down to.

Bobby was the one who took him to his first concert. Fourteen, buzzing with adrenaline and the promise of rock, they waited until their feet felt like they would freeze off and they wondered, silently, was it really worth it?

That was the night the dream of Sunset Curve was born. As they found out, it was worth it. It was incredible and loud, and it was _everything_.

When the very first note sounded, confident and clear, engulfing the band in flames of music, their faces nothing but pure bliss, realization struck Luke, blinding everything momentarily: _so that was what poetry looked like._

Ever since he was a child, he could never sit still. He was always bouncing his legs, tapping his fingers, silently screaming for attention in a way that is so notorious for only children. The air surrounding him constantly seemed to crackle with mischief. He made noise just for the sake of it, until one day, it became the only way he could stop himself from combusting. There were things he needed to get out, scream his lungs off, or else he would explode like a volcano of anger and longing and not-understanding and all the odd things he was beginning to feel more and more, things that were like a boulder not _on_ , but _inside_ his chest, crumbling him from the inside, taking up all the space.

Lyrics would spill out of Luke like little suns, popping from his head into the black notebook. They wouldn’t make sense at first, scattered light specks in the vastness of the universe, until one moment, it all _clicked_. And then there was no stopping it, no silencing the explosions of bright, white light streaming onto the pages, black ink on fingers, the pressure subsiding to the point where he could breathe again, physically feel the space between his ribs clearing, darkness fluttering into the sky only to be drowned out by perfect, all-consuming _sense_.

_So that was what poetry felt like._

“Sunset Curve booked gigs by doing,” Luke had told Julie all those weeks ago, and it was true. They had no connections, no easy in, but they had dedication and the power of friendship. Or, the power of four combined teenage voices pleading “We promise we’re good!” until someone important enough rolled their eyes and put them on the list, mumbling something about kids trying to be rock stars.

To their credit they were – good. They had this glint in their eyes, something that had become so rare in passing faces. They had _fire_.

Soon, they could count on certain clubs and bars to book them regularly, risk it for the up-and-coming band from the block. They never disappointed. Their songs were like a vacuum, creating a world inside a world, a moment of oblivion where all that existed were the voices and dimmed lights and hands on hands on other things, a promise of midnight never arriving.

Sunset Curve, the escapism sirens.

For others, but also for themselves.

Luke had parents that loved him. Parents that bought him his first guitar and took him to lessons and helped with science projects and played soccer with him. Parents who wished a good life for him, a stable life, backed by education and honest work.

They did not want their seventeen-year-old in a rock band. Even if he made decent grades. Even if he always came home after playing, looking like the secrets of the universe have unraveled before his very eyes. Even if it made him happy.

Happiness did not buy food. Happiness did not mean a roof over their son’s head and financial stability and a backup plan. Happiness did not fall in love with a nice girl and raise children who would also get good education and lead a good life.

In their defense, Luke _was_ known for getting tired of things quickly. ADHD made him hyper-fixated on things all the time, but it rarely lasted. And they could not understand that his band was something completely different than learning to do a handstand or beating that one level in Reggie’s game. That it was more than just a phase.

It wasn’t entirely Luke’s fault they grew distant and then inevitably snapped either. Reggie’s parents were starting to fight on a daily basis, screaming contest about who to blame. Alex – sweet, anxious Alex – finally gathered enough courage to come out to his parents, and it did not go well. They didn’t scream or kick him out; they simply hardened and let an icy chill creep into their voices when talking to him, when they did at all. And Bobby’s parents were almost never home anyway.

It was a thing the boys bonded over – one more struggle to get through together. Parents who didn’t understand, support, love enough. Until Luke couldn’t think of his own parents without the connection to the others. Mom and dad were not family and childhood and home – they became but a part of the concept of “parents”, of limitations and judgement. It was what pushed him away at the end.

One the night he wrote Unsaid Emily, Luke promised something to himself; if they ever played the famous Orpheum, the ultimate dream, he would come back home. He would slam open the door and yell _I told you so_ ; then he would say the other things too. The unsaid part of Emily. _I’m sorry_ and _I only wanted to do what I loved_ , and _I wish you could have seen how much music meant to me_ and _I hope you are proud_. He really did; he really hoped they were proud of him, even if they didn’t understand.

After they played the Orpheum. After he proved to them all he could do it.

Luke never got to live that dream.

When they booked the show, the boys were ecstatic. Everything was finally coming together, all the years and tears repaid; it had been worth it once again.

They were gonna be legends.

The feeling on stage was unlike anything the band had ever experienced; even the sound check felt like soaring on the clouds, like they were fucking _invincible_. Anything and everything was possible, jumping on the ground that held rising stars, singing to no one but themselves, as if they could convince their hearts this was happening, it was true, it wasn’t _now or never_ anymore, it was simply _now_.

The stage lights were hot and bright, the venue but a blur of blacks and whites. Sweat trickled down their brows, and the air was full of dust particles and dancing sparks and that _backstage smell_ , a mix of hairspray and cleaning supplies and junk food and possibility.

Luke breathed it all in and thought, _so this was what poetry smelled like_.

He didn’t get to hug his parents.

Instead, he got Julie. Julie, who lived in _2020_ and screamed when they appeared. Julie, who carried a sadness in her eyes, a weight on her shoulders. Until she didn’t. Until her fingers flew over the piano and sang, and the sun was rising, and Luke realized he had not known the difference between dead and alive before.

She weaved words into lyrics with much of the same desperation that possessed him when writing; together they created, united and harmonious, songs that would shatter glass walls and collapse golden cages; notes streaming with tears over cheeks untouched, throats raw from singing to the sky the pleas of two hearts mending.

Julie and Luke’s songs were a phoenix born of loss and darkness and pain, rising beyond the shadows of the past and on to greater things. And they were connected through those same songs, a bond not to be broken by loneliness or fear, something bigger and brighter that the both of them alone.

Playing the Orpheum had been Sunset Curve’s dream ever since that fateful day Bobby and Luke realized nothing could compare to rock. It birthed legends and they wanted it for themselves. They wanted to go up on that stage and change everybody’s lives.

Death banished them the first time, but they weren’t going to let Caleb fucking Covington do it again. They couldn’t. They’d earned their spot, a dream long time-coming, and nothing, _no one_ , was going to stand between them and greatness anymore.

They had to go up on that stage and play their souls out. Julie was counting on them.

Luke thought of her anxious smile when she told them to meet them at the venue, of the way they danced and jumped when the show was first booked, of the sparkle in her eyes – perhaps from happiness, perhaps from melancholy – when she sang Stand Tall. This was her moment as much as it was theirs; a petty magician would not be the end of Julie And the Phantoms.

Popping on that stage was like returning home. The crowd went wild for their performance – hundreds of bodies dancing to the words he helped write, to a melody he strummed on his guitar. Alex and Reggie, as freaked out as he was, but relieved too, pouring their hearts and all they had left into the song; his brothers, his family.

And Julie. With tears in her eyes, tears for them, and the most beautiful smile the universe ever created. They couldn’t do this to her, he would not break her further, not when she had just patched up the void of her being. They were doomed, and it was _fine_ , because she would live on, playing their music and remembering and _what more could a musician ask for?_

Because he had to restrain himself from becoming anything more that that, a _musician_. Because if he let himself be a 17-year-old-boy, if he let his eyes linger on hers, green and brown meeting in a blinding gold, if he showed her how his breath hitched in his throat and how she made his heart race like an animal caged before by denial, he could not bring himself to let her go.

And Luke was a love-struck boy, not a cruel one.

And because, really, it was _fine_.

He smiled back to her in reassurance and in pure bliss, so happy, happy, _happy_ , because they were there, and they were _real_ , and this was the end, but they’d go out with fireworks. They’d go out with their girl playing the goddamn Orpheum, stars dying into supernovas, leaving highways of light in the darkness between galaxies.

He shredded on his guitar, and Alex banged on the drums, and Reggie rocked the bass, a cacophony of explosions, of music beyond the physical, and Julie’s voice was clear and powerful and raw with emotion and all he could think about was – _so this was what poetry sounded like_.


	3. POETRY

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> //so this is what awaits over the edge of great//

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> last chapter!! this format is absolutely wack and i have nothing to say in my defence. the lyrics i used are from an original work, because i came up with a few lines for this fic and just kinda.. ran with it. the full song, titled phantom pain, is at the end and i'm almost kinda proud of it. enjoy this mess of a closure!

BROWN

Turns out, miracles didn’t only happen in bedtime stories.

It was a lazy Saturday morning; a few weeks after that fateful night, after the Orpheum, after Caleb almost ruined _everything_. A few weeks after her heart couldn’t take it any longer and she lurched through the blur of her tears, not thinking, _not falling._

Because Luke was there to hold her up. Luke, with his sad smile and eyes that looked at her not like she was something worth looking at, but like she was the _only_ thing. Like she was a raindrop to desperate ground, no, the entire ocean, drowning and soothing all at the same time. His arms were around her (and he was real) and _Julie didn’t fall_ (and he was real he was real he was real) and she was a tsunami, and he was real.

They were half-lying on the floor of the studio (because sometimes, the floor is just so much better that any other surface actually designed for sitting), bundled in a nest of blankets, working on the song they had started almost a month ago. A lot had happened since that afternoon, when Julie fist let herself realize this was something more. (She would keep realizing that in the coming weeks. It was unbelievable and honestly, starting to get ridiculous – just when she was sure her heartbeat couldn’t race any faster or his laugh get any more intoxicating, she was struck by lightning all over again. He was a surprise, too.)

The band, the boys – she could touch them now. Hug them, hold their hands after performing, lay her head on their shoulders. She found her breath hitching every time she extended a hand – what if the magic was gone? But it never was. They remained right next to her, less than human (they were, after all, still technically _dead_ ), but more than an illusion, more than mere hopes and dreams.

There were questions that needed answering and explanations to be made, but it didn’t matter in the end. They were together, and they played, and all was well.

“I still think your lines are perfect, but mine are missing something. I don’t really like the beginning that much.” Luke’s fingers were absent-mindedly weaving through her curls as he spoke. They were alone, for the first time in a while; Reggie was helping Alex find Willie. The two of them usually helped, but she had been too tired this time, and Luke decided to stay and help her write.

“It’s just … You start so lyrical and with metaphors and symbolism, so mine are basic in comparison.”

“That’s not true.” She could agree it was missing something, that _je ne sais quoi,_ a thing that distinguished good lyrics from great, but she didn’t want to hurt his feelings. Huh. That was odd; usually she had no problem spilling the harsh truth when it came to music. But this song was different, and they knew it.

“It is, though. It feels … Flat. I just can’t seem to connect to that feeling anymore, you know?”

There it was. Plain and simple, a confession if there ever was one. They both knew they had been writing about their relationship, or the lack of thereof, but neither has dared to put it out in the open, admit it to the other.

She made her eyes meet his gaze; two piercing sapphires, cutting through flesh and bone to the dark spot where her soul nestled.

“How about you try -” Taking a shallow breath, she hummed the melody. “ _Green meets brown …_ ” This was a terrible idea. Terrible, terrible idea. But she couldn’t, wouldn’t stop.

Something in his eyes shifted – understanding. She went on. “ _Doomed from the start_.”

It was easier to write now, Julie realized, tears didn’t threaten to spill through her lashes as lyrics were stitched together, no more the painful truth but a bittersweet memory. The ache she felt was completely different, less like grieving and more like … Like letting go, like exhaling the hope she so fiercely protected, out in the open. For him to see.

“ _How more crossed could the stars be?”_ He understood; of course he did.

 _“Your absence is a phantom pain.”_ No stopping now – the lines were crossed, the bridges burnt. This was the end of a beginning, or the beginning of an end.

 _“How can I miss a past that never was?”_ Soft humming, long eyelashes, his hands still in her hair. Her eyes flickered to his lips for a moment, pink and parted, singing through a half-smile. Singing to her. Smiling for her.

 _“We collide with atomic rain.”_ It was a countdown, a countdown to the last verse, to whatever came after. Strangely, she didn’t feel afraid; no, she was ready. She had been for quite some time now.

Stares set, breaths mingled, they _knew_.

The final verse was but a whisper, a promise:

_“Darling, it takes_

_but a touch_

_To take away_

_my phantom pain.”_

Julie didn’t know which one of them leaned in, who finally closed the distance. She only knew his lips were on hers and everything else was _nothing_ , only Luke, and music, and Luke and music and Luke – they were one and the same, calloused fingers on her cheeks, her hands on his jaw, the smell of his shirt and hair and _him_ , and there was no more oxygen; her eyes closed, she was floating, soaring, standing tall, letting her body fill with butterflies; it was a perfect harmony, the final note of a song that has been slipping her grasp, the beginning of a _beginning_ , of a truth, of magic.

Bridges burned in the back of her mind, flames a beautiful, deep purple, and they were finally free. One last collision to birth a thousand stars, a firework show painted by lips and hands and warm breaths, a roaring _finally_ , a constellation of whispered _I love you_ -s.

This was what awaited over the edge of great.

GREEN

Luke had only one thought in his head.

_So, this was what poetry tasted like._

**_Phantom Pain_ **

_J: Perhaps your life was_

_meant to be before me_

_What else am I supposed_

_to think,_

_grasping the thin air_

_that once held your heart._

_L: Green meets brown_

_Doomed from the start_

_How more crossed_

_could the stars be?_

_J: Your absence is_

_a phantom pain_

_L: How can I miss a past_

_that never was?_

_J: We collide_

_with atomic rain_

_b: Darling, it takes_

_but a touch_

_to take away_

_my phantom pain._

_L: Girl of my dreams_

_and nothing more_

_Tell me pretty lies_

_Hold my hand, a breath away._

_Girl of my dreams_

_b: and nothing more_

_L: You could show me why_

_With your lips as vessels._

_J: Your love is like_

_a phantom limb_

_Your touch a missing_

_constellation in the_

_galaxy of us._

_L: You only love me_

_when I close my eyes_

_I hope to hold you once_

_Perhaps in paradise._

_b: All the years and_

_tears repaid_

_When we meet again._

_L: Girl of my dreams_

_J: and nothing more_

_L: Tell me pretty lies_

_J: Hold my hand, a breath away._

_L: Girl of my dreams_

_b: and nothing more_

_L: Leave me in the dust_

_for I can’t come back home._

_J: No, oh_

_can’t come back home._

_L: Oh, oh_

_wish I could come back home._

_b: Your absence is_

_a phantom pain_

_How can I miss a past_

_that never was._

_We collide_

_with atomic rain_

_Darling, it takes_

_but a touch_

_to take away_

_my phantom pain._

_J: My phantom_

_My phantom_

_L: My phantom_

_pain_

_J: We collide_

_with atomic rain_

_b: Darling it takes_

_but a touch_

_to take away_

_my phantom pain._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ahh this is it!! it's short and terrible and tooth-rotting fluff but it's MY short, terrible, tooth-rotting fluff and i like it. i'm a slut for positive feedback and i wanna feel good about myself, so, y'know, some kudos/comments would be nice. u can check out my tumblr @a-chaotic-ananas for more jatp-related nonsense.


End file.
